London Calling (at the top of the dial)
by CuckooWolfie188188
Summary: The ice age is coming, the sun's zooming in, melt down expected, the wheat has grown thin. Engines stop running, but I have no fear, 'cause London is drowning and I, I live by the river. Post Reichenbach. Please Read and Review.
1. Chapter 1

Dr John Watson sat back in his armchair, staring absent mindedly out of the dilapidated window of 221B Baker street, thinking. He did a lot of that these days, just thinking about the past and everything that had happened to him. Not that any of that mattered anymore. His life was falling apart in his hands, and so were the lives of everyone around him.

"Are you ok, Sweet?" Mrs Hudson's squeaky voice floated up the stairs, making John jump and knock his drink onto the rug. Mrs Hudson heard the sound of breaking china and rushed upstairs, John had barely moved since she gave him his drink.

"John-"

"Hmm?" John looked up at Mrs Hudson inquisitively. Mrs Hudson collected up the shards of the cup and crouched down beside John's ear.

"I know what you're goin' thr-"

"No you don't!" John snapped and glared at Mrs Hudson. "You have no bleedin' idea what's happening in here!" He tapped his head with his middle finger and sunk back into his chair.

Mrs Hudson recoiled at these words. "Well then," She sighed "Clearly I don't." With those words she turned and left the room.

John cursed at himself, that was another friend gone from his life. "I'm sorry Mrs Hudson," He whispered, he knew she could not hear him but he felt he needed to appologise. After all, that's how the men at Scotland Yard saw him, Sherlock's sympathetic foil.

"I'm sorry for the world."


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock Holmes paced down the rainy streets of London, careful that no one would notice him. It had been like this for over a year, running, and of course, being VERY bored.

A cab trundled down the road beside him, slowing down as it came. Sherlock dismissed the cab, but that did not stop the owner from getting out of the car.

"You're the ha-"

"Don't mention my bloody hat." Sherlock spat. He turned to the cab driver, who was grinning manically.

"You're also the cab killer!"

"What?"

The driver laughed. "Don't you remember Cab killer?" He jeered."You really should, I mean," He broke off laughing. "Life is a 50/50 chance. It's like so normal for people to die, some before others. Your pet buddy for a start."

Sherlock drew in breath sharply. "How do you know about John?"

"Soldier lad?"

"Yes." Sherlock growled, he felt in his coat pocket for his pistol. Then he remembered, it was in his trouser pocket.

"Do you honestly think I'd tell you?"

"Not really, no."

"So we've reached a understanding then?"

"No, again!"

The driver glided over to the door of his cab, entered, pulled up his hood so it covered his amber eyes and rolled down the window. "You know you won't always be there for your li''le soldier lad Sherlock, or the other way. The dog loves his master, but nobody loves chickers more than KFC."

"What are you trying to say?"

The driver did not reply, he shoved a newspaper front page up to the passenger window. And drove off into the London night.

**Fake genius**. The headline still haunted Sherlock. In this society, where it was normal to have an IQ below average, you were more likely to stand out if you were intelligent. Because he could think, people feared him, and then to cheer themselves up, they branded him as abnormal, and false.

But what did all this mean?

**A/N**

**Ok the story is a little slow now, but I promise soon, something wonderful we be revealed. Yes I did take that previous phrase from TIME RIDERS, well done you if you knew that.**

**Please review, and maybe add what you think the cabby's riddle meant.**


	3. Chapter 3

"John,"

There was no reply, John was a million miles away. Lost in thought, nostalgia, how very British. This was the first time he had been at work for a while, he could not bring himself to leave the house that he and Sherlock had spent so much time in. Now John really understood the power of memories, and how they can keep you going.

"John." He jumped at the gentle touch of the receptionist's hand. "Work's over."

"What, ah?" He shook the haze out of his mind and stared into her eyes for a brief moment, while he ordered his mind. "Sorry, so sorry Flora!" John rubbed his fingertips with his thumb, then he stopped, it reminded him of Sherlock. "I just..." He broke away it was too difficult to explain.

"It's ok," Flora said. Her voice cool and soothing to John's ears. "I know how you feel-"

"No you don't." John whispered, and air of hostility in his voice. He held his hands to his face, in the same way that Sherlock would if he was lounging around in his mind palace. And John wanted to go to his, to sink into benign memories and isolate himself from the uncompromising world. "You and everyone else who think they understand, you understand as much, as, a protozoa on Mars. No, a deer tick on Gliese 667 Cc!" He paused to catch his breath, and the puzzled look on Flora's face. "It's a planet!" But by the time he said this, Flora was gone.

**A/N  
**It only goes up from here! Please review.


	4. Chapter 4

London was too quiet, too safe, and too boring. And as you would expect, Sherlock was bored. Slipping in and out of the shadows, cast by the ornate marble porches of the west London terrace houses. Then along came the worst kind of memories, triggered by a place, Baker Street.

Sherlock took a moment to see if the street had changed. To an untrained eye, it looked the same. But to Sherlock's expert vision, the whole street looked different, darker.

221A had varnished their door recently, within three months by how the varnish tinted the door ochre. 67% of the potholes had been filled in to an average of 87%. The moss had been cleaned off the roof the whole left terrace, but had grown ferociously on the right. And as clear as glass, he could see where the terrace had been mended from the Baker Street explosions. The whitewash was brighter than that of the rest of the street. Speedy's sandwich bar had a new sign up, which brought Sherlock to 221B.

Sherlock stopped, he was home. John's home now, he reminded himself. And Mrs Hudson, how was she? He decided to see. Reaching up with his long, slender fingers, Sherlock grasped the ring of the ornate, lion-head door knocker. And knocked three times.

Mrs Hudson came to the door promptly, her hair was a mess if peroxide and her eyes were blackened by insomnia.

"Sherlock?" She gasped, shock and a host of other things coming to her baffled mind. Sherlock said nothing, he just smiled down at Mrs Hudson who had her left arm around his waist.

Then, a thought struck him. "Where's John?" He shook himself free from Hrs Hudson's grasp. "Where is he?"

"John?" Mrs Hudson said. "Oh yes!" She smiled with realisation. "He's at work Sherlock, but he'll be back soon enough." She waved her hands in a careless manner. "Tell you what. Why don't you come and have a coff-"

"Sorry Mrs H," Sherlock interrupted. "Gotta see the flat!" He pushed past Mrs Hudson and ran upstairs, before he could be told otherwise.

Even to Sherlock's eyes, the flat looked similar to how it was left. John's computer was on the same area of the desk, his cup of coffee was in the same position too. The deposit on the bottom of the cup told Sherlock that the cup had not been washed for a year. The TV remote was its usual place, on the left side of the screen. The smudges of dirt were still on the skirting boards, and Sherlock's sofa had not been sat on since the fall. No, it had been sat on briefly, but the occupant had vacated the seat, probably after John had given them a drilling about why no one could sit there. Sherlock smiled, how very John.

But on the walls, things had changed. There were new pictures on the wall, pictures of John and his wife. But while John's wife looked fresh and elated in the pictures, John himself, looked like he was elsewhere.

His boyish face was turned down, and his brow furrowed over his shining blue eyes. He looked close to crying.

Sherlock bit his lip regretfully. He knew John seeing his 'death' would have a negative impact, but he did not expect it to cast a shadow over every day of John's life.

Trying to erase those memories from his mind, Sherlock lay on the sofa and opened his book. 'E=MC² and why it matters', it was a bland read, and Sherlock disagreed with moast of the contents, but it allowed Sherlock to travel to his mind palace. Where he was happy.

**A/N**

So, the legendary Sherlock Holmes is back in Baker Street. Things can only get better from here!  
Please review!


	5. Chapter 5

"You're an idiot John!" John hissed at himself, that was the eighth person this week. He needed to stop but it was difficult. Out of every alleyway, John could picture Sherlock creeping out of. Hat donned, of course.

John was nearing home; he needed to lose himself in some comedy. Black Adder ideally, he liked Bob (Kate), especially since she was quite good looking. But that episode reminded him too bitterly of his wife, maybe 'Chains' was a better choice, yes that was a good episode.

John fumbled in his pocket for the keys to 221B, he found them after a couple of minutes searching and rammed then into the key hole. They stopped, the keys had been left in the door on the inside. John yanked the key out and tried another, this one did not go in at all. Cursing to himself, he hammered his fist on the door. "Mrs Hudson!" He roared. There were no signals that Mrs Hudson had heard him, so John tried the window. He could just hear Mrs Hudson hauling herself up from her creaky chair and shuffle out of the room, muttering something to herself as she walked. A few seconds later the door creaked open and John pushed past Mrs Hudson and ran up the stairs.

"Hello John!"

**A/N  
So there you are, John and Sherlock back together! Will include meeting dialogue in the next chapter. Please drop a little review in the box below! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

John woke up three hours later in his bed, with his shoes on. He could not remember how or why he was there, but then it dawned on him. Sherlock was not dead!

Hastily, John pulled on his jumper and ran into the living room. Sherlock was lying, sprawled like a monkey on the sofa. With a book obscuring half of his face and one arm dangling over the arm rest, loosely clutching the TV remote.

"I say again John," Sherlock said in his usual dry tone. "Hello."

"Umm…" John's eyes widened, he placed his hands out behind him to stop himself fainting again. John walked out of the room with his hands on his head and cursed. How? Why? John felt as if he would faint again, so this is why he was on his bed. Regaining (Some of) his composure, John strode back into the living room.

"So,"

"Yes."

"You've finally decided to show your face!" John sat down on his chair and eyed Sherlock suspiciously.

"Yes."

"Took you a while didn't it!"

"It was _strategic_."

"STRATEGIC?!" John roared leaning forward in his chair. "Oh my _god _Sherlock! _How_ is leaving everyone for that length of time _strategic_? IT'S NOT!" All John's rage burst out of him at this one moment.

"John," Sherlock did not seem to be bothered by John's anger. "As I tell you, you observe but do not see!"

"I saw everything Sherlock!" John seethed. "Blood in the puddles, shocked pedestrians," John paused for a moment, tears welling in his eyes. "And-"

Sherlock interrupted John with a loud groan. "John, you can sometimes be such an idiot! You see-"

"I AM _NOT_ AS STUPID AS YOU MAKE OUT!" John roared, he was now out of his chair and leaning over Sherlock threateningly. "You think you're so smart don't you? The world's only 'Consulting detective'." He raised his voice to a schoolboy jeer; the kind one might give mocking your defences in an argument.

Sherlock blanked this last tirade of John's outburst out of his head, he anticipated John's reaction would be like this, not the same, but similar. Sherlock could not be bothered to grace what John had said with an answer either, it would be kinder to let John think he had won. That way Sherlock could read.

"Why are you ignoring me?" John's voice turned icy for a moment. Now what was Sherlock doing? "Sherlock?" There was still no reply. "This is stupid!" He muttered to himself as he stormed out of the room.


	7. Chapter 7

**John Watson wrote:** First time I've done this for a while, so here goes. Sherlock's still alive!

**Mycroft Holmes wrote:** Are you sure John?

**George Lestrade wrote:** How?

**John Watson wrote:** Yes! I don't know how but, Sherlock's alive. Wouldn't quite say and well but he's alive (and I might have just driven him away from our flat)

**Molly Hooper wrote:** He's alive? But I performed the autopsy!

**John Watson wrote: **Well he's in the other room right now. Sulking. Oh, and how did the surgery go?

**Molly Hooper wrote: **Ok I suppose. They thought it was gone but it came back after a week. The liquid is arriving on Thursday so I'm passing the time on the internet

**Sherlock Holmes wrote:** Hello Molly!

**Molly Hooper wrote:** SHERLOCK! Why have you been hiding for so long?

**John Watson wrote:** Apparently it's 'STRATEGIC'!

**Molly Hooper wrote: **Strategic? How is scaring lots of people strategic?

**John Watson wrote: **Exactly

**Sherlock Holmes wrote:** Hmm. Surgery?

**John Watson wrote:** Yes Sherlock, surgery. Molly had to have _surgery_ the other day, and _you_ missed it. Molly wanted to see _you_. Only _you _weren't there were you? _You_ were skulking around London!

**Molly Hooper wrote:** Calm down John! Yes Sherlock, I've been a bit ill recently so I've had a couple of operations

**Sherlock Holmes wrote:** What for?

**John Watson wrote: **So there you go Sherlock. If you're so clever then why don't you work it out for yourself?

**Molly Hooper wrote:** STOP IT YOU TWO! I'm logging out. Aren't you two in the same building? Have this argument away from the computer

**Sherlock Homes wrote:** But Molly!

**John Watson wrote: **She's gone Sherlock, and she's got a point. I'm logging off

**A/N  
**So there's the reaction from the online community. I promise the reaction when Mycroft and Lestrade meet Sherlock will be MUCH better in person. But there are some hard times ahead for Molly and Sherlock. Please review. On the 13th of June 2013 50 people read this in 15 minutes, and nobody left a review. Even a little PM would be nice. I'll send a review back if I can find the time (definitely)!  
But thank you for reading, and thank you to Dangerous Bliss for following and reviewing!


	8. Chapter 8

The taxi trundled slowly down the alley, pausing to let out a passenger and to collect the fee. Then it kept going, out of this alley and down one that was even narrower, it was so narrow there was no definite road, just cobbles. Soon the alley became too narrow for the taxi and the driver had to walk, he reversed a little so that he could open the door and exit the vehicle.

The farther he walked down the alley the narrower it became, until the driver met a dead end. But cab drivers know many secrets of the capital, and this cab driver knew some secrets others did not. Such as which bricks were loose. He carefully inched the brick out of the wall and started to do the same to other bricks in the wall. He fitted his feet into the gaps he made and climbed swiftly up the wall.

On the other side of the wall was a small back lot, created by the backs of houses all meeting at one point. The cab driver had long known the house at the front was a façade; Moriarty had built it this way for them. But Moriarty had done many things for him over the years. He'd fixed him, Jim had fixed him.

Around the back lot were bodies, huddled around Bunsen burners and each other for warmth. This was a bitter winter, but the winters had been getting worse for the past few years. He paused and surveyed everyone for a moment before attempting to catch their attention.

He coughed gently, that did not work. This time he raised his voice and announced "Tea par'y's over!" At this the people all stared at the cab driver, eyes gleaming with shock, horror and concern. They all new what this meant, their time had come, the time when they would change Britain.

A small boy stood up and ran over to The cab driver. "The cab killer?" Is eyes were filled with terror for his father's life.

The cab driver smiled, and ruffled his son's mop of golden hair affectionately. "We now call 'im 'The Hatter'"

"Why?"

The cab driver handed his son a newspaper cutting. After a quick glance at the picture of Sherlock in a 'deer stalker' cap, he nodded in acknowledgement and ripped up the paper (He would it need for fuel later).

The cab driver ignored his son and started to address the camp. "Jim told us 'bout this didn't 'e?" The people around him nodded meekly. "So he thought that we'd be ready by then. Are wes?" The nods this time were far fewer this time. The cab driver shook his head and smiled grimly at his little congregation. "We all know wha' Jim said would 'appen if you wasn't ready!" He pulled a pistol from his coat, aimed, and fired at one of the congregation who was not prepared. "So I suggest all of yous ge' ready. Unless you wanna end up like that bastard." He turned his back and started to walk away.

"Wha' 'bout Soldier Bo-" BANG! The man was dead before he could complete his sentence. The cab driver had shot him.

"I'll decide what we do to 'im!" The cab driver snapped. "Whatever yous lot do, do not touch the puppy!" He looked at all the shocked faces around him. "Don't you have more scrounging 'bout to do?" And with that, he left.

**A/N  
I enjoyed writing this chapter more than the others, The cab driver is a really fun character to create and write about. I must apologise for the Jimmy Savile reference, it was used in the first series so it only seemed natrual to include it. Please review, It's very difficult to write a fanfiction with so little support. Cheers, CW. **


	9. Chapter 9

John stood in the doorframe for a moment, arms folded and leading against the frame. He was chewing the inside of his cheek in thought, and wondering what Sherlock's reaction would be. Eventually, he decided it would be better just to tell Sherlock.

"Hey." He lowered his voice to sound sympathetic and moved over to Sherlock, who glanced up at John as he sat down. "Well umm," John swallowed, his voice hoarse from yelling and crying. "Just after the Olympics Sherlock, Molly started to umm." He swallowed, hoping Sherlock would take the news ok. "Loose weight. She was ill Sherlock, really ill. And she was miserable as well Sherlock. Eventually I made her go to hospital for a check up and," John closed his eyes, and whispered hoarsely. "She's got cancer."

Sherlock lowered his book and steepled his fingers under his chin. In his pallid face, John could detect one emotion, remorse. Remorse that he had let everyone who cared about him believe he was dead, remorse that he had not been there when John needed him most, and remorse that he had left Molly alone at the most difficult time of her life. But Sherlock would never admit it, the more you care the more you had to loose. John cared, and he had lost nearly everything, including himself.

"Are you ok?" John ventured. Sherlock did not answer; he just sat there, eyes closed. John did not know anything about Sherlock's theological alignment, but it did seem that Sherlock was praying.

Sherlock was silent for a few minutes before speaking to John. His face was slightly red, as if he was biting back strong emotions. "Go John!" He still did not look directly at John's face, as if he was afraid John could read his emotions. But John was already leaving the room, before this day could get any worse.

**A/N  
Aww, poor Sherlock, and John of course. Please review. It does not take long, mabey just 20 seconds for a couple of words. I review back! Thank you for reading though!**


	10. Chapter 10

"Hello?" The man in the flat cap rang the bell at the reception desk impatiently, again and again.

"Ok!" Came Flora's agitated voice from behind the glass. She slid the glass panel back and sighed at the man. "I'm sorry sir, the surgery is closing soon. Is your situation an emergency?"

"No."

"Then I'm afraid that I must ask you to leave-"

"Wait!" The man gasped, jamming his hand to stop the panel from closing. "I'm not here to be treated!" Flora looked at the man inquisitively. "I'm here to see Dr Watson."

Flora paused for a moment. "Why?"

The man bowed his head solemnly. "It's a personal matter," He sniffed "For both myself and John."

"I see," Flora smiled sympathetically at the man, "If you would like to take a seat just over there" She gestured at some plastic seats at the edge of the room "I'll come and get you when John's ready."

The man nodded and went over to his seat. There was a pile of old magazines on a dilapidated coffee table nearby, he briefly flicked trough the magazines, nothing took his interest. He drew his phone out of his pocket. He had three new messages.

_3 minutes ago. C U & J 2mw. S_

_5 minutes ago. Cnt tlk, K dsnt lk ths ida. S_

_15 minutes ago. U no wot 2 do. S_

"Hello John!" Flora said, poking her head around the door to John's practice room.

"Oh, hello Flora." John did not look up from his computer; he had just seen a boy with appendicitis and needed to type up the data quickly. "Ok!" He closed his computer down, and rested his head his hands.

"You're looking better!" Flora noticed, she smiled at John kindly.

"I'm feeling it!" John grinned.

"So everything's alright?"

"Most things, yeah." John sighed, briefly staring into space.

"That's good! Well there's someone here to see you John."

"Who?" John snapped back to attention.

"I don't know, he never said his name." Flora whispered this last clause, as if she felt a little suspicious about the man. "And he seems a bit, odd."

"Well umm, show him through then!"

"Certainly!" Flora left the room, and the man in the flat cap came in.

"Dr Watson." He approached John with his hand out stretched, John shook it. "My name is Joshua, Joshua Mortsan."

John's breath caught in his throat. "You're-"

"Mary's brother?" Joshua smiled grimly and nodded. "Yes, I am." He released John's hand from his grasp.

"Strange." John muttered. "Mary never mentioned you!"

"And why should she have?" Joshua laughed. "She probably didn't want you to know."

"About what?"

"My addictions tore apart the family." Joshua sighed. "That's why she sought for a doctor, to heal her."

John bit his lip, he wasn't sure if he believed Joshua, but he had a nagging urge to believe him. He balled his hand, there was a scratch on his palm. When did he get that?

John's phone beeped into life, he had a new message. "Sorry, I'll just be a moment."

_Going to Scotland Yard. Would be good if you joined me, I need your help with something.  
__SH_

John sent a reply.

_Ok, just having a word with someone.  
__JW_

"So sorry Joshua." John said, still holding his phone in his hand. Secretly, John was filming Joshua, he would ask Sherlock what he thought when he returned to 221B. "I see why she may not have wanted me to know. I'm sorry for acting with so much suspicion."

"Oh that's ok." Joshua smiled at John. "Perhaps we should go for a drink sometime soon?"

"Um, I'm a bit tied-"

"Oh it's fine, I'll come back in a week to see if you've made your mind up. Ok?"

John nodded. "I'd enjoy that. Well I'll see you then!" He fastened his bag and made to exit the room. Joshua stood aside to let him out and closed the door behind John.

Joshua took out his phone and sent a message.

_Cnt c u 2mw, nxt wk phps. P_

**A/N  
I'm not giving any spoilers away, but I have assumed that Moffat&Gatiss will stick to the original story on the subject of John's marriage (That has been confirmed for series 3). Please review! Even two words would make me so grateful. Thank you for reading (And hopefully reviewing. A little review is a sign of appreciation!)! **


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock stood outside Lestrade's office, waiting for John. Where was his friend? John was already ten minutes behind schedule, and Sherlock hated things to be out of schedule, unless he himself was late.

"I'm here!" John called as he ran up the stairs. He approached Sherlock. "So, what do you need me for?" Sherlock started to walk away. This is where John realised that it was something Sherlock was uncomfortable about, but he followed the detective willingly.

"John."

"Yes Sherlock." John was struggling to keep up; his limp was causing him slight pain.

Sherlock stopped outside the surgical theatre. He turned to face John, and placed his hand on John's shoulder. "I understand this may distress you-"

"What?" John's face suddenly became worried.

Sherlock removed his hand from John's shoulder and avoided his gaze. "But they've found the body of your wife." John looked down at the floor sharply, closing his eyes.

"In fact we've had her body in the fridge for a while." A man said, he was dressed in a lab coat and his hands were covered by thin latex gloves. He stopped beside the detective and gave John a sympathetic smile.

"John. This is Dr Sanjay Foster." Sherlock said. "He's the new pathologist."

Sanjay held out his hand to John, who shook it firmly. Sanjay had a soft handshake, as if he was trying to have as little contact with John as possible. "We're sorry we kept this information from you for so long John, we felt that in your psychological state it was wise to keep this information withheld until you were ready."

John raised a quizzical and studied Sanjay's face. His forehead was exceptionally large, as was his chin. But his dark grey eyes looked out of place, as if they were the only thing alive in his face. "Until I was ready for what?" He croaked.

Sanjay paused. "We believed that you would not return until ready, and that would only happen when Sherlock-"

"So you would have me believe that Mary's body was never found!" John snapped. "'cause what if Sherlock had actually died? What would you have done then?"

Sanjay tried to reply but was silenced by Sherlock. "Don't speak!" He snapped. "Sanjay leave us."

Sanjay nodded and walked into the theatre, leaving the door ajar behind him. Sherlock sighed and tried to calm down John. "John?" No reply came. "They need you here for your eyes."

"You've told me many times that I'm blind!"

"No John," Sherlock reasoned "You knew Mary so well that you'll be able to see any physical abnormalities quickly." He paused, not knowing how John would react.

John shivered, Sherlock could see the glistening skin on the top of John's nose, wet with tears. Sherlock decided to leave John for a while, so he went into the theatre, leaving John outside. Alone.

**A/N  
Has anyone got any ideas about the taxi drivers riddle? If so please could you let me know! Thank you for reading, please drop a little review in the box below.**


	12. Chapter 12

The air in the room was stale, and tasted of disinfectant. On a sterile, plastic table in the middle of the room lay Mary's body, a thin plastic sheet covering her. Sanjay stood by the table, scalpel in hand, ready to cut into her skin. Sherlock was at the other end of the table, waiting for John.

John entered the room five minutes later, his face was pale and he was trembling slightly. "Ok," He whispered. "Let's, oh God!" John ran over to the table and broke down into tears, he could not go on.

Sherlock nodded briefly to Sanjay. "Go ahead!" He muttered. Sanjay grasped the scalpel tightly and made several slits on Mary's neck.

"Stop it!" John yelled, his eyes wide with horror. "Please!" He started to hyperventilate. "You have no right to touch her!" John stormed over to the wall and placed his hands on his head. He hated life, the hand he had been dealt was burning in front of his face.

Sanjay paused, but resumed the dissection after a signal from Sherlock. "Small signs of internal bleeding, possibly caused by fracture of one of the Carotid arteries. Yep! Sherlock!"

Sherlock walked over to Sanjay, and examined Mary's neck. "Check a little further in, see what caused it."

John cursed, Sherlock was ignoring him again. He strode over to the table and looked Sanjay in the eyes. "Please," He whispered. "Just stop cutting for one moment!"

Sanjay froze, and carefully removed the scalpel from Mary's body. He looked at John nervously as the Doctor ran his fingers through Mary's hair. "Beautiful wasn't she?" John muttered. Sanjay was not sure if John was talking to anyone, but he moved a little closer to John, inquisitive about what John might reveal. Sherlock grunted indignantly, he was being ignored, and that made him angry.

"Hang on!" John froze. "What's this?" He pointed at a blue-black area of skin behind Mary's left ear. Sanjay moved over and poised his scalpel, John nodded reluctantly.

"So this is what you brought me here for?" John whispered to Sherlock.

"Yes?"

"Why?"

"Fourteen bodies have been found in unusual places around London." Sherlock muttered. "All of them have disp-"

"Sherlock!" Sanjay called. "I need your help with this." Sherlock paced over and knelt beside Sanjay. "What d'you think?"

Sherlock stared at what Sanjay's incisions had revealed, he muttered to himself for a moment, taking in everything. Mary's skull had caved in at a point, there were seven large cracks spiralling away from the impact area. He grinned at himself and muttered under his breath. "Oh, oh Mary. You've made Christmas come early for me!"

"What?" John gasped as he placed his head next to Sherlock's, trying to follow his gaze.

"See here?" Sherlock said. "You can see here, a cranial fracture inflicted with a blunt instrument two inches wide. From how the cracks run up the skull I can tell the blow came from a very low angle."

"What? So someone hit her with a baseball bat or something?"

"Yes." Sherlock declared. "One with nails hammered into it, you can see some slight scuffing of the ears. Or, the angle of injury could be that if she leaning over to get out of a cab-"

"That's it!" John cried, leaping back from the table. "The night she went missing," John started. "Mary called me to say she couldn't find her car keys, and would be taking a cab home!" Sherlock smiled, John's mind was not a thick as it seemed. He watched intently as John searched in his pocket for his phone, John produced it with a florish and started to scroll through his call history.

Sanjay nudged Sherlock gently. "I thought you said he was stupid?" Sherlock sighed thoughtfully and glared at Sanjay.

"Here!" John showed Sherlock his phone. "22nd of December 2012, 10:53pm. There you go!"

"Well done John!" Sherlock smiled at his friend. "It seems you've still retained some of the information I taught you." With that, he thanked Sanjay and strode purposefully out of the theatre.

**A/N  
Sorry for the time break, writers block settled in half way through but it's gone now. I have recently had a brush of insparation to help with the plot from a dream, so I'll be writing that in later on. But first, I'd like to hear from you! Please leave me a tiny review so I know my work is appreciated, I review work back. Thank you!**


	13. Chapter 13: Kitty

The girl sat here, sipping her coke absentmindedly while her parents discussed something. She had no reason to interrupt them, but she desperately wanted to. The temptation to open her mouth and let all the unstructured, complex sentences in her head spill out. That was what being a genius meant to her, a constant struggle for control.

"Kitty," Her mother began. Kitty looked up from her drink inquisitively and then turned her eyes down again. "How do you feel about doing that French course?"

Kitty immediately shook her head. "You sent me to Sauveterre last year for the summer. Don't fancy goin'!"

"But look here." Her mother handed Kitty a leaflet, she studied it intently, and then slammed it down. "It's in an atheist setting, you'd like that wouldn't you?"

"But what happened to 'Let's all be tolerant'?" Kitty asked. "And you did say that we'd be going to Bergen this holiday."

"It's only for three days Kitty!" Her father sighed. "And we could include it in one of our cultural trips."

Kitty shook her head. "I still don't want to go!" Kitty hated London, the air was too thick and the streets too narrow. She even hated cafés like this, preferring the dark and smelly pubs of her home county. The food tasted too processed, she preferred natural flavours, freshly caught fish or fresh vegetables. London hurt her, the hills healed her.

The lady behind the counter leant over and tapped Kitty's father on the shoulder. "You planning on signing up then?" Her hands and face were grimy; Kitty briefly wondered how she was allowed to run the café.

"Yes!" Her father snapped, moving over to the counter and starting to fill in a form. Kitty slumped onto the table miserably; the idea of the course seemed suspicious. Her mother gestured to the lady. "Where is the course?"

"13 Green Street." She replied.

"Isn't that the hideout for one of London's most notorious gangs?" Kitty snapped, her photographic memory perfectly recalling the news story from a few years ago. "And hasn't it been converted into a plastics dump recently?"

Kitty's mother sighed, having a child genius for a daughter had embarrassed her a great many times. And sometimes, she wished for Kitty to be like the other girls, not obsessed with make-up or boys, just without her photographic memory, cynical mind, obsession with the news and low tolerance levels. Kitty's psychologist had always told her to allow Kitty's mind to flourish, but as a result Kitty had become like William Gates. Very clever, but with low social skills. "I'm sure it's a different Green Street-"

"I remember it from London A-Z!" Kitty interrupted. "Page-"

"That's enough Katherine!" Her father snapped as he handed over the form to the lady. She opened a draw and took out a thin, plastic coated file. She handed it to Kitty's father and winked.

"She'll love it really!" She laughed. "I mean them three over there went last year and they loved it." She gestured over to a table where three teenagers, each dressed in shaggy clothes were whispering nervously. "Didn't yous?"

The three of them paused and flashed dirty looks at Kitty's family. "Yeah." They replied flatly, then turned back to their whispering.

Kitty slumped onto the table hopelessly; she was _not_ spending going to spend _any_ with people that unintelligent. She refused.

**A/N  
I promise this is connected with the main story, no matter how unlikely that seems now. I received a guest review recently, thank you to whoever sent that! But remember, these stories can't keep going without your support. Any theories on the Cabby's riddle would be most welcome.**


	14. Chapter 14

Molly Hooper was woken late that morning by the sunlight filtering in through the thin curtains of the ward. She turned over groggily in an effort to get shield her eyes, but when she did she could say dying people being whisked down the corridors on tables. Reminding her about her condition, and that nothing could be guaranteed in this world. Everyone dies eventually, some earlier than others. Molly groaned, it seemed to her as if her life had been paused, as if God was deciding whether or not to let her die, she could feel her grip slipping.

Molly turned over again, wincing as the line in her arm bent. She hated it here; everything stank of death and disease. Hardly comforting when you are fighting for your life.

"Good morning Molly." Came a low voice in her ear. Molly jumped, she knew that voice, and it felt brilliant to hear it again. She looked over her shoulder nervously, straight into Sherlock's steely grey eyes.

"Sherlock!" She gasped, shifting her position slightly so that she could place her arms around Sherlock's neck. The detective did not return the gesture, but Molly could just feel a change in his cheek muscles, as if he was smiling. "Where've you been?"

"Around," Sherlock replied flatly. "Nowhere really, just around." He paused and surveyed the ward, and then Molly. Taking in the details quickly, and filing them in his mind, making simple deductions on the state of everything. "Bone marrow."

"Sorry?" Molly said, slightly surprised at Sherlock's statement.

"It's in your marrow now Molly." Sherlock muttered. "They haven't noticed now but they will soon."

"How can you-"

"Oh come on Molly, it's really rather obvious! The fact that despite the amount of food you've been given, you've lost weight, about half a pound over the last week by the looks of stuff. Then there's the stiffness in your movement, understandable after bed rest yes, but the slight look of pain on your face suggests more. And-" He paused when he saw the look on Molly's face. "I've said enough now haven't I?"

"Yes Sherlock you have!" Molly sniffed, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. "You can never say the right thing! You come in after a year, and ruin everything!"

"Everything?"

"Yes! Everyone thought you were dead and now you just turn up all, umm." She paused to catch her breath. "Alive! You should have seen John after the fall, he was nearly dead with shock. When his wife died, you weren't there! The number of times he considered suicide you would not believe. But you know what kept him going?" Sherlock did not reply. "The fact that he believed that you were still alive, with all his heart. He just knew, somewhere, that you were still out there. Doing whatever you were doing, but above the odds that you'd still be alive, thinking of us. And that someday, you'd return with your stupid face and grin, alive."

"But I am alive." Sherlock retorted.

"YOU WEREN'T THEN!" Molly roared, leaning forwards with rage. "You could have been dead for all we knew, but you're not, you were just hiding. When I got diagnosed with," She swallowed nervously. "Cancer. I wanted to see you, to hear you say everything would be alright. But you weren't there! I'd have had to endure these months alone if it wasn't for John, you don't realise how good a friend he is Sherlock. You shouldn't use him like that!" She continued to rant, her words inaudible through sobs.

"Good bye then," Sherlock snapped, standing up and making his way over to the door. "Molly Hooper."

Molly did not hear Sherlock leave the room over her sobs. She felt terrible, she had wanted to see Sherlock for so long and she treated him like dirt. But then Molly remembered that was Sherlock's personality, cold and isolating. He was so unlike John, who had offered her so much consolation over this most difficult of periods in her life, and possibly the last. "Sherlock?" She glanced over her shoulder in an effort to apologise to Sherlock, but he had left like before. Molly shuddered as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in her television screen, her remaining hair was lanky and her skin had a greyish hue. That was what she had feared (Almost above death), the destruction of her physical self and her identity. Feeling the misery creeping back over her, Molly clutched the sheets and buried her face into them, hoping that she would see Sherlock, before the possible end.

Pacing slowly down the corridor, Sherlock felt a strange feeling coming over him. Was this guilt? Sherlock had been feeling a lot of this emotion recently, and it concerned him. He was starting to care too much, and that could only mean trouble. He would question John about it when he got home.

"Excuse me sir!" Sherlock jumped as a hospital bed (Decked out with life support equipment) was hurried past him. Sherlock glanced at the figure, his stomach fell sharply. Smeared with blood and unconscious, lay John. Sherlock shuddered. What had John been doing to get him in this state? Sherlock turned to check that it was John (Not that he disbelieved his eyes) but the body had been taken into the intensive care unit. Where Sherlock knew, it would be decided if John would survive.

**A/N  
So we are now back onto the main story now. To answer a couple of people's questions, Kitty is an OC and not connected to the works of Moffat&Gatiss. But she will prove to be a pivotal player in the future. Please drop a little review in the box below. And I promise I will explain in the next chapter what happened to John.**


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